Life on Mars
by ceilidh65
Summary: A series of stories featuring Mr and Mrs Garibaldi, as they settle into married life.
1. Chapter 1 From This Day Forward

Life On Mars by ceilidh

A/N: Well, here I am again, with another series of 'missing scenes'. These will feature Michael and Lise as they settle into married life together. I have several ideas, and I'm sure more will follow, so I don't know yet how many stories there will be. But the first one, of course, has to start with B5's _other _momentous wedding.

Objects In Motion really speaks for itself, so I've set this first story on Mars rather than B5, as Lise gets used to the idea of being _Mrs _Garibaldi.

As always, I hope you enjoy :o)

Life On Mars

Chapter One - From This Day Forward

He was still sleeping, deeply enough for her to snuggle up against him without fear of disturbing him. From past experience, Lise Garibaldi knew there'd be Italian hell to pay if she did. If there was one thing Michael cherished, as much as he loved her, it was the rare luxury of a full night's sleep. On B5, with all the responsibilities that his position had held there, it had been close to impossible.

Still, at least he was smiling tonight - not shaking awake from the horror of recent memories, or heaving his guts up. And wherever that playful subconscious had taken him, he was clearly enjoying himself.

Smiling too now, Lise slid her arm a little further across the solid warmth of Michael's stomach – knowing from a deep sigh, and that irresistible grin, that she'd just joined him in his dreams.

She'd always loved watching him sleep. Loved the changes that it brought to him. Sleep took away the troubled, tortured soul who'd hurt her, so much and deeply, so many times. In its place, it brought back her very own Peter Pan.

The little boy who'd never _quite _grown up.

The brash, world-weary cynic, who'd giggle himself to tears over the antics of Daffy Duck.

Her soul mate. Her ex and now lifelong lover. _Her_ Michael.

Hers now, and no-one else's. Shared vows, that glint of gold on his hand, would see to that. Hopeful women could still _look_, of course, and she didn't blame them. But they _couldn't_ touch. So those hopeful envoys who'd eyed him so flirtily as they'd boarded the shuttle had wasted their time.

To her amusement, he'd not even noticed. Throughout the flight, proudly protective eyes had looked at _her_, and no-one else. The only time they'd wandered was to glance down at the ring on his hand - staring at it, in silent wonder, as if he couldn't believe that it was actually there.

Even now, as she did the same, Lise still couldn't believe it either. But she wasn't imagining things. That band of precious gold was as solid, and real, as the body that now cradled hers so snugly.

Her dream had come true. After years of trying, she finally had him. Michael Garibaldi was _hers_ now, for life.

So yes, she had every reason to smile now as she glanced up again, to study the face that she'd fallen so instantly in love with. Yes, it was older. A little fuller than when they'd first met. Lined by years of personal, and professional, traumas. But it was still so expressive. Still timelessly handsome.

He was right, too, although she'd _never _make the mistake of telling him that aloud. Lise Hampton-Edgars-Garibaldi was _never_ going to fit on their his-n-hers bathrobes. Lise Garibaldi, though? Or maybe just M-L-G? Yeah, that would suit _both _of them. She'd just have to make sure that _his _robe had those essential pockets.

Lise Garibaldi. The more she rolled her new title around in her head, the more she loved it. Lise Garibaldi. Ga-ri-bal-di. _Mrs_ Ga-ri-bal-di.

Silent laughter overtook her now, as memories of her madcap marriage returned. She'd expected a quiet wedding, or at least a chance for her arm to heal first. But no. A reassuringly familiar rush of energy had spaced those ideas out of the nearest airlock – sweeping out of Medlab to find that minister, and traumatising that poor orderly for life.

And for the obligatory witnesses – well, only two _very _special people had been entrusted with such a special honour. The friend, near brother, who'd stood by him through brutal betrayal and ongoing redemption – and the other, surrogate brother who'd raised the task of saving his life into a medical art form.

Maybe that's who he was sharing his dreams with now, Lise mused, gently tracing her fingers around his chest. As he started out on this new life, so his subconscious had taken him back to his old one – letting him enjoy one last goodbye with the friends that meant so much to him.

Friends that he loved as family. Damn it, she realized, through a sudden pang of guilt, had she been right in pressing him to come back here with her? Had he pushed him into this marriage too hard?

Yes, she knew he loved her, more than life itself. And yes, it had been _his _idea to get married on B5, so she couldn't doubt his commitment. But it must have hurt him like hell, to have left such truly special friends behind. She'd seen it on his face as the shuttle had left the docking bay, granting him one final glance as it banked away onto its course – the station he'd loved, that he'd almost died protecting, so many times, fading slowly out of sight for the final time.

He'd insisted it was just dust in his eye, but… no, even as she'd nodded, Lise had known better. That last goodbye had been harder on her husband than he'd ever admit.

But as she'd learned, so often, for as long as she'd known him, Michael Garibaldi was just full of surprises – deepening dimples assuring her that, in both his dreams and conscious reality, he _would_ be alright.

There were no regrets, no second thoughts. Just this second chance that neither thought they'd ever see. Maybe that's why her arm tightened back around him now, in her own determination not to let that chance, _or _him, go.

As that twinge through her shoulder reminded her, they'd both just had one hell of a close call. More would surely follow, and – hell, this damn shoulder was now _really_ starting to hurt.

She'd bitten back a hiss of pain, tried so hard not to disturb him, but – yeah, she should've known better. Even in the darkness, she could hear the tension in his voice. See the flare of panic in his eyes as he sat up, instantly and anxiously awake.

"L'se?"

Aw, _hell_. Not only had she woken him, she'd lost the support of the comfiest pillow in the galaxy. The most protective one, too, who'd be horrified if he thought, for one second, that he'd hurt her. So when she saw his mouth open again, Lise knew what to do, and _how_ to do it – swallowing up his tumble of anxious questions in a kiss that threatened to suck out his tonsils.

By the time she let him up for air, his anxiety, and her aching shoulder, were magically forgotten – a dumbstruck grin _much_ easier for her to handle than yet another assault on his conscience.

God knew, that conscience had been shot to hell enough already, more than it ever deserved to be – hence the relief that now swept away all lingering twinges when Lise looked up again into his eyes.

Bright blue, and wickedly glinting. Full of life and mischief, just as she'd always loved them. Beautifully clear. Even more beautifully sober.

That voice too, so deliciously playful, was all that Lise could hope to hear.

"Hey, who knew painkillers had such _great_ side effects?"

"Yeah, remind me to thank Stephen when you call him later-" Lise grinned, kissing him again as they wriggled joyously under the bedclothes.

Wonderful laughter answered her. Equally mischievous giggles returned it. Then neither of them spoke, or formed any kind of coherent thought, for a _very _long time.


	2. Chapter 2 The Art Of Compromise

Life On Mars by ceilidh

A/N: Okay, here's chapter two! Now, I'm in the middle of painting my living room at the moment, which would be fine - if I were around ten inches taller. I could really do with a six foot three inch handyman, to kindly help me out, and - awww, Lise beat me to him!

:o)

Life On Mars

Chapter Two - The Art Of Compromise

Husbands, Lise Garibaldi dryly reflected, had many uses. For one, they kept you snugly warm at night. They made you laugh one minute, and cry the next. If you were _really_ lucky, they'd cook dinner too. And when they stood six three in their socks, they made home furnishing a doddle.

Highly enjoyable too, she mused, watching the glorious view in front of her with a broadening grin. That butt had always been cute, but when he bent over like that, it was even more distracting, and – damn, who knew that moving some pictures from her old office into their bedroom could be _so_ entertaining?

She could watch him bend and stretch like this all day, and… hell, what was stopping her?

When he was finished with these pictures, she could ask him to shift the bed, then the dresser, then those two nightstands, and – oh yes, if she played her cards right, she could keep him deliciously busy until bed-time. And, of course, after all that hard work, she'd make sure that he was just as sweetly rewarded.

First things first, though, and… hm, that landscape of a storm tossed ocean still wasn't _quite_ right.

"A bit more to the left, Michael… no, up there by the Picasso, or… no, above that shelf was better-"

Still on that buzz of newly married agreeability, Michael nodded and patiently did as she asked. Halfway through stretching for that third option, though, the penny finally dropped, and he groaned as he turned around – the devilish grin on his angel's face too much even for his heroic self control to resist.

"There was nothing wrong with where you had that picture the _first _time-" he said at last, glaring back at her – his attempts to look and sound cross with her really not helped by a betrayingly twitching mouth.

"There was nothing wrong with the view either-" Lise shot back, wrapping her arms around him – forcing herself to resist the plaintive, whipped puppy expression that usually turned her insides to goo.

"Why do you do this to me, Lise?" he went on, upping that look to its full, melting strength – going for broke now, with the long suffering air of an already hen-pecked, put upon husband.

"I keep you fed, watered, and _constantly_ entertained. I do _all_ of that, Lise, and _still_ you abuse me-"

"…because I'm your wife, and because I can-" Lise explained through a sweetly evil smile – playfully drumming her fingers against that tightly trim butt until he dissolved into helpless laughter.

Never one to be outsmarted for long, Michael then lifted her up until their heights were level – the glint in his eyes warning her that, as she'd hoped, she was now in _serious_ trouble.

"Well, in _that_ case, _I_'_m_ your husband. So _I_ can do _this-_" he pointed out with a wicked grin – payback deliciously returned in a neck-nibbling kiss that had her shrieking for mercy until he set her down again, softly kissing her forehead.

"Truce?" he asked at last, his tone one of pure innocence – the glint in his eyes anything but.

"For now-" Lise grinned, conceding defeat with a graceful shrug as she glanced around them. "But that picture _still_ doesn't look right there-"

"Yeah, it _does_ kinda clash with this colour scheme-" Michael agreed through an appraising frown – quickly holding up his hands to forestall the suggestion that he could see in a playfully hopeful smile.

"Oh no, you don't! No, Lise, forget it. I am _not_ re-painting this room just so that _you _can ogle my butt!"

Okay, he'd thwarted her this time, but… well, even as she pouted, Lise wasn't too disappointed. She still had years, the rest of their lives together, to find other ways to make _his_ life a merry hell.

Assuming he didn't beat her to it. Judging by the broad grin on his face, he already had.

"Hey, you know what would look just _perfect_ there?" he enthused just as excitedly – rummaging through one of his packing boxes with the glee of a kid on Christmas morning.

Watching him, Lise couldn't help but smile. That impulsive energy had always been so infectious. But then she saw what he'd pulled, so joyously, out of that box, and all of that changed.

"Michael. No-"

"Aw, but Lise!"

"_No-_" she insisted, standing firm against the double-whammy of those eyes and that pleading frown. "Michael, when we're making love, and I'm in the throes of wild passion, I do _not_ want to see _that_!"

Pulling a face back at her, Michael smiled, then grinned as an eyebrow rose in speculative mischief – trading glances between Lise, their bed, and the favourite picture that he still held in his hands.

"Throes of wild passion, huh?" he said at last, weighing up his options before he made his decision. "Sorry, Daffs, but… hey, there's no way you can beat that!"

Stowing Daffy back in his box, Michael then took Lise's hand and pulled her into a giggling kiss – falling with her onto a bed that was still gloriously mussed from last night's frivolities. Marriage was all about compromise, apparently, and – oh yeah, his lady was already a sublimely creative expert.


	3. Chapter 3 Michael vs Microbe

Life On Mars by ceilidh

A/N: One thing that's struck me about watching this great series is the number of times that poor Michael gets whumped. I mean, he's been shot, stabbed, hit with a tranquilizer dart, brainwashed by Bester, and beaten up more times that you can count. But I don't remember him ever being plain, old fashioned _sick - _well, aside from the start of Objects In Motion, of course, when he's going through that detox, and being _seriously _sick.

So given that, and some evil inspiration from my whump-bunny, I came up with this. Our favourite hero is feeling a bit poorly, and Lise is... well, I think you can guess!

Enjoy!

Life on Mars

Chapter Three - Michael vs Microbe

He'd faced every known threat in the sector. With one still bitter exception, he'd defeated all of them. But now Michael Garibaldi had met his match. Martian microbes had breached those seemingly indefatigable defences, and hit him like the proverbial truck.

Unfortunately for him, and even more unfortunately for Lise, he was too damn stubborn to admit it.

"Lise, I am _not_ sick-" he squeaked, wondering when the hell he'd turned into Elmer fraggin' Fudd – returning her deeply sceptical grin with the glare that had made B5's hardest perps beg for their mommy.

"I have been stabbed, shot, zapped, zonked, Bestered, and beat up more times than I can count-"

A pause to prop himself on wobbly elbows, to find enough of his voice to deny the blatantly obvious.

"But I have _never_ been sick. I don't _get_ sick. Hell, I don't have _time_ to get sick!"

He could have gone further. Luckily for Lise, a thunderous sneeze and fit of coughing stopped him.

"Yeah, right-" she shot back, for once unmoved by the whipped puppy look that followed. Usually it turned her to goo. Sadly for him, she was having _waaaay_ too much fun to be gooified.

Instead she grinned, studying her suffering husband with one part sympathy to six parts mischief. She thought he was, of course, but 'cute' wasn't a word that anyone else would use to describe Michael Garibaldi. Certainly not to his face. Anyone who dared to try would either be very drunk, very stupid, or needing a free rearrangement of their teeth.

But at that moment, as she finally yielded to those plaintive eyes, it sure as hell suited him now. And yes, she'd suffer hellish revenge for what she said next, but – well, that was kinda the point.

"_Damn_, you're cute when you're sick-"

He was still coughing, the poor baby, so she had plenty of time for a huskily purred follow-up.

"And _soooooooo _sexy-"

A noseful of tissue made it impossible to hear what he growled in response, but it sounded Italian. Rude, too. And even in the grip of a soaring temperature, he still had one hell of an aim.

Catching the pillow he'd hurled at her, Lise then grinned as she dutifully tucked it back behind him – pressing a glass of warily sniffed meds into his hand, and glaring at him until he meekly drank it down.

No wonder Stephen had gone grey through taking care of him, and… well, that duty fell to her now. She knew from her own experience, too, how awful he'd be feeling. As tempted as she was to continue, the time for teasing him had passed.

"Actually, Perellian flu is a one off virus-" she said at last, all seriousness now as she sat beside him. "Once you've had it, you have lifelong immunity. And I've had it already, so I can't get it again"

A fevered eyebrow lifted at that. The bleary eye below it still managed a glint of hopeful mischief.

"_Really_? So you're gonna be my nursemaid? Kiss me all better?"

"Down, boy-" Lise grinned, loving the face he pulled in response, then sobering at the pain beyond it. He was being all heroic about it, as she'd known he would, but he was still clearly feeling like hell.

"Guess you're feeling pretty lousy-" she said at last, completely serious now as she sat beside him. She could have fried eggs on his forehead, and the misery of aching joints still clouded his eyes.

"My shoulders are killing me-" Michael admitted, wincing again as he tried to get comfortable – perking instantly back up again, though, when Lise made him an offer that he'd _never_ refuse.

"Okay, roll over. I'll see if I can ease some of the kinks out-"

It took some help, and some painful jack-knifing, to get there, but he finally made it onto his side – a sighing groan of relief escaping him as Lise settled in behind him and set to work on his aching back.

A soft kiss on his shoulder made him sigh even more, a sleepy mumble telling her where to go next.

"Aaw, yeah, hon, _that_'_s_ got it… jus' – jus' a bit lower… ymm, bit - bit more to the right, and… _aaaah_…"

Hell, she'd kiss him all over if she could, but – no, it would be _much_ more fun, for both of them, if she let him get his strength back first. Besides he was enjoying the simple pleasure of being gently kissed to sleep as much as she was – snuggling back against her and tugging her arm fully around him, pressing her hand against his heart.

The meds had kicked in too now, and she could feel him relaxing into much needed, healing sleep. By the time she reached the nape of his neck, he was out for the count, snoring softly into his pillows.

Watching him for several more moments, Lise smiled and rested her head into the snug crook of his shoulder. Yes, he was soundly asleep now, so now she could do the same. He'd feel like hell for the next few days, and it would be several more before he'd be back on his feet. But from sheer bloody mindedness, he'd beat this damn bug. Soon he'd be her Michael again. The bundle of impulsive energy who'd turned Edgars Industries on its head, and become her truly indispensable partner.

And for all those manly protests, he was still cute, still _damn_ sexy, when he was sick.


End file.
